Feral Skies

by K. M. Raya

  Feral Skies

  K.M. Raya

  Independently Published

  Copyright © 2020 K.M. Raya

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

  This book is dedicated to all the people who made fun of me for always having a zombie escape plan. Bet you feel pretty silly now, don’t you?

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter ☣ 1

  Chapter ☣ 2

  Chapter ☣ 3

  Chapter ☣ 4

  Chapter ☣ 5

  Chapter ☣ 6

  Chapter ☣ 7

  Chapter ☣ 8

  Chapter ☣ 9

  Chapter ☣ 10

  Chapter ☣ 11

  Chapter ☣ 12

  Chapter ☣ 13

  Chapter ☣ 14

  Chapter ☣ 15

  Chapter ☣ 16

  Chapter ☣ 17

  Chapter ☣ 18

  Chapter ☣ 19

  Chapter ☣ 20

  Chapter ☣ 21

  Chapter ☣ 22

  Chapter ☣ 23

  Chapter ☣ 24

  Chapter ☣ 25

  Chapter ☣ 26

  Chapter ☣ 27

  Chapter ☣ 28

  Chapter ☣ 29

  Epilogue

  The End

  About The Author

  Books By This Author

  Introduction

  An action packed RH Zombie story!

  You learn a lot about people when the $#!* hits the fan. You learn who to trust, who to rely on... who to watch out for. Me? I learned not to get too close to people, because one day I'll probably have to put a bullet between their eyes.

  My friends and I got lucky... if you could call it that. We've been traveling North for exactly a year dodging baddies, looting the ruins of what used to be the United States and avoiding the snapping teeth and grabby hands of the undead. A year on the road has been hell, and after getting trapped in a burning warehouse full of walking corpses, getting rescued by a ragtag group of hotties just seemed too good to be true. I don't trust these guys, no matter how much my heart and my... body would like me to. But we need the help getting North, and if I end up having to waste these savage, beautiful men, then so be it. At least I can have some fun along the way. This is a RH #whychoose novel in which the main character does not have to choose between love interests.

  18+ due to graphic violent and sexual content. Trigger warning.

  Prologue

  ☣

  Helana

  With my face pressed against these cold bars, I try hard to fight my drooping eyelids. I’m so fucking tired, but sleep is impossible. All around me are the sounds of moaning, gurgling and gnashing. The creak and crack of grinding bones makes me nauseous, but I haven’t been fed in three days, so there’s nothing in my stomach to throw up.

  ​Several men have come and gone from this dark room since I arrived, but other than to let me use the bathroom, they barely bat an eye in my direction, but I guess I’m lucky in that regard. There used to be another girl in here with me. She looked like she’d been kept in her cage for a while with her collar bone basically jutting out, and her cheekbones so sunken in she looked borderline skeletal. Her name was Marissa. She couldn't have been older than nineteen, but they took her away yesterday, and she never came back.

  ​I heard a few of the trapper men talking after that, bragging about that ‘fine piece of ass’ they’d had their way with before throwing her in the pits. Just hearing the way they talked about a teenage girl made me furious enough to burn this place to the ground. But I can’t. I can’t do much of anything right now. It takes all the energy I have just to stay awake. But I have to, because I know what happens to the people they deem useless.

  ​All of this is because I refused to be one of their mindless slaves. Every night so far I’ve cursed Liam’s name to the heavens, and even the satisfaction of watching his turn no longer keeps me warm. I thought he really cared for me, but his acting skills were something else. I fell so easily for that golden hair and those grass green eyes that used to promise me safety and love.

  ​My fingernails dig into my palms, remembering how fucking naive I was to think a guy like him could possibly survive so easily on his own. So pretty and hot headed. I was blind. We’d been staying in that mall in Texas for a week before Liam and two other men we were hiding out with decided they needed to go on a supply run. I should have noticed how eager they were to get out of there. But I didn’t notice. I was too caught up in believing Liam’s lies, and now I’m sitting here, wondering how long it’ll take for them to either starve me, or rape me.

  ​I have no idea where they are keeping Nina and Missy. We were separated when they brought us in here. They knocked me out after I pushed Liam into that horde with a smile on my face, and they beat me pretty good before sticking me in this cage. For the past day and a half, now that my mind is once again sound, I’ve been trying to think back and retrace my steps. We’re in some sort of stadium, maybe a baseball… or maybe a college football stadium. The place is one giant circle, but they walked us around a few times, weaving through hallways so I’d get confused, before sticking me in this musty room.

  ​It’s dark and freezing cold in here, and my cage feels like it’s closing in on me. I hate small spaces, and the dampness and the dark just makes it worse. My skin itches, and my bruises ache. I’d give pretty much anything for a cracker, or a sip of water right now. I can’t believe I got us into this situation. If we ever get out, I don’t think Missy and Nina will ever forgive me for getting us locked in here like animals.

  ​I’d heard stories of the trappers since we left Florida. The further West we traveled, the more whispers we heard of a militant group attempting to hold dominion over the states. Their doctrine is spreading quickly from state to state, and if you refuse to comply, you’ll just end up providing the entertainment. That was my mistake. Instead of just going along with it and pretending I wanted to join their psychotic little society, I rebelled because of my stupid girly feelings. Liam broke my heart, and I let that get in the way of my own safety, and I’ll never forgive myself.

  ​Above my head I can hear the sounds of stomping feet. The dirt from above trickles down overhead, covering me with dust. I can hear voices, too, rising above the sounds of moans and death rattles coming from the other room. Together it creates a chorus of chaos that partially contributes to my lack of sleep. When I was first brought in here, a man named Mac paid me a little visit. He’s a relatively handsome man, probably somewhere close to my dad’s age, but his eyes show none of daddy’s kindness or wisdom. In Mac’s eyes, all I see is greed and death.

  ​With his blonde hair tucked under his dirty cowboy hat and a handlebar mustache to match, I actually had to fight my reaction to giggle the first time I laid eyes on him. I’m glad I did, because he’s a mean old bastard, and he’d probably have killed me right there just because I disrespected him… and also the fact that I killed his son. Mac’s the leader of this particular outcropping of trappers, and he’s the one who sent Liam after us. He’s old southern money and had the resources and connections to start up this little operation.

  But even after a few hours of listening to him tell me stories about h
ow his society is the way of the future, if only we agree to comply, I saw him for what he really is. A tyrannical psychopath. He captures free Americans and forces them to work for him in exchange for meager amounts of food and shelter, as if he has any right to the monopoly on it. The people here live like slaves in tents, eating only the scraps the trapper ‘soldiers’ toss their way. It’s no way to live a life, and for that reason I spat in Mac’s face.

  Literally.

  With a grin to follow.

  Chapter ☣ 1

  Wyatt

  “I said right!” Beretta screeches in my ear, close enough to make me wince. “Motherfucker, I said right! Seriously, Wyatt?” I try to tune her out, but she hovers over my right shoulder while I jerk the wheel back and forth. Bodies hit the windshield, coming out of the fog and covering it in red and black sludge.

  ​“There’s too many! They're gonna get stuck in the grill if we keep going this way!” I yell back, shoving her off of me with the jerk of my shoulder. Beretta growls, sitting back in her seat. I hear her unzip the bag at her feet and pull out a handgun, cocking it with attitude as she grumbles under her breath.

  Ignoring her, I slam into another wave of dead bodies appearing seemingly out of nowhere. It’s been a whole year and still the dense, man-made fog that created these monsters has yet to dissipate. Our suv jolts and jumps as the tires fight to crush them. I still cringe every time I feel the vehicle lag, knowing exactly what’s crunching underneath. The floodlights strapped to the top of the suv light up their milky eyes, greying skin and missing limbs. Their gnashing, yellow teeth chomp away only feet from our faces on the other side of the glass before they fall off the side of the hood.

  There are too many of them, all piled up on top of one another while they crowd the parking lot of an old Costco. Glancing to my right, I roll my eyes at Dante while he leans halfway out the open passenger side window, peppering the horde with bullets. Luckily, we’re all wearing our respirator masks, so we’re safe from the monster-making fog for the time being, but it still makes me nervous. Dante’s dark goggles shield his eyes from the biting wind, and though I can’t see it, I know a crazed smile stretches his lips. “Get some, get some!” Dante yells with a loud whoop.

  The Costco is currently on fire. We’d seen the hazy orange glow through the blanket of fog from two miles away. The warehouse store was once a safehouse back when the world was starting to fall apart. The military had set up shop for a few months, until eventually, like all the others they were overrun. Now the store just sits here, an empty skeleton with barely anything remaining in the warehouse that can be salvaged. The building is almost entirely engulfed now.

  “I’m taking us around back, there's a roll door that shouldn’t be padlocked,” I warn the guys… and girl. “Be ready,” I add as I press on the break while jerking the wheel sideways. We drift around the back corner of the store, the side of the car taking out a group of ten zoms. I’m nervous and taking a risk driving like this without being able to see much further than twenty feet in front of me, but if there’s anything left in that warehouse, I want to grab it before it burns away.

  Glancing in the rearview, my eyes meet Alex’s deep scowl. He’s been quiet all day and I know he has no interest in this fool's mission. I told him to stay back at the bunker, but the bastard just grumbled, strapped his weapons on and lumbered into the car anyways. He may be a grade A jackass, but he’s a jackass who really does care when you get right down to it. You just gotta get used to him. That’s what I tell people every time I have to defend his moodiness. Alex turns back to the window, jaw tightening as zombie hands scrape over the glass, fingernails breaking off and crumbling to the asphalt.

  The horde hasn’t made it to the back of the Costco yet. I can only spot around twenty or so bunched around a few parked delivery vans. Our floodlights bounce off the greyish white side of the building, barely illuminating the warehouse roll doors and a small employee entrance near a staircase. Bringing the suv to a stop, we’re just about to rush out, when the back door is suddenly thrown open. We all freeze. My hand goes to the gun in my side holsters, but I stop myself as two, very much alive women stumble out with black smoke filtering out from behind them. One of them is hobbling on her ankle, and the other is clearly the only thing that’s holding her up. Four loud bangs ring out somewhere inside the warehouse, and I realize the women aren’t alone.

  Fuck, I think to myself, mind whirling. I really wasn’t in the mood for a firefight today, but if these girls have men somewhere inside, there’s no way for us to tell if they’re friendly.

  We’re still far enough away from the building where we stopped that I can barely make out the two women as they stumble over bodies. Fog undulates around them, but I can tell from here that they both have their respirator masks on and what looks like an arsenal of close combat weapons strapped to their bodies. Two zoms make their way towards the girl holding up her friend and four more are stumbling around the corner. The girls limp to a stop. “Should we help em?” I ask my buddies.

  “Nah, man. I heard the bangs too. Sounded like a pipe bomb or something. They probably got boyfriends in there and I don’t feel like having my dick blown off this morning,” grumbles Dante. I look at my tattooed best friend. His hazel eyes are wide but cautious after he raised his goggles to his buzzed hair. His respirator covers his dark scruff, but I can picture his lips held in a firm line. He’s nervous too, even if he’ll never show it. I squint at him to which he just shrugs. “What, I happen to like my dick right where it is.”

  “You know I hate to say it, but I think Dante’s right for once,” says Beretta. My eyes meet hers in the mirror. She’s watching the two girls with something odd in her expression. “They made it this far, so I think they’ll be okay if we leave now. Let's get back to the bunker, there’s no way we’re stopping this fire.”

  Chewing on my lip, I run a gloved hand through my long, tangled blonde hair and fasten it back in a loose bun. I don’t feel right about leaving these chicks to fend for themselves. Technically, we don’t know if their people are still alive in that building. I haven’t heard any more loud bangs, so I’m assuming whoever they were with is zombie chow. “I don’t feel right about this,” I tell them, and Dante just scoffs. I frown at my friend. “They’re just girls.”

  “I take offense to that, fucker,” snaps Beretta. But she hates when we call her a girl. I tried it once, and got a closed fist to the gut for it. She’s a tough chick. Probably the toughest one I’ve ever met with the muscles to match and I’d probably be roadkill ten times over if it hadn’t been for her. Don’t get me wrong, Betetta’s a fucking bitch with a capital B sometimes, but she’s a bitch with a heart of gold and I wouldn’t trade her for even the toughest man out there.

  While we wax poetic about the pros and cons of helping these wayward women, I almost miss the figure coming out of the smoke filled doorway. For a second I thought it was a zombie, but the way it moves is too sure and steady and way too low to the ground. “What the shit?!” yells Dante as a huge black Doberman leaps from the doorway and over the railing of the staircase. The dog tackles the zom nearest the girls straight to the ground, promptly ripping the fucker’s head right off its shoulders.

  “Holy crap, where’d Cujo come from?” Beretta breathes. Dogs are immune to the noxious fog like most non humans, so I’m not too worried about it turning rabid. I don’t have time to respond, though, because more movement from the door draws our eyes. A knife shoots out of the smoky doorway and sails through the air like a bullet, lodging itself into the forehead of another zombie coming up behind the girl with the injured ankle. A figure appears seconds later, and her bright head of white blonde hair held back in a sleek, long ponytail shines like a beacon through the dreary daylight.

  “Mother of God...” Dante groans as the woman steps into the floodlights. Like something out of an action movie, the lithe little thing hops over the railing, landing squarely on her boot clad feet before drawing another knife
from her snug black cargo pants. “Hello, Laura Croft...” Dante clicks his tongue and raises his eyebrows up and down suggestively as I turn to him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

  Even Alex is leaning forward in his seat now, straining to watch the action. The woman couldn’t be more than five foot four, but she’s strapped with weapons. There isn’t a single gun in sight, though, only various blades and… are those arrows? I squint through the goop covered windshield. Yep, those are arrows. I can just make out the bright green tips of the feathers at the ends over her shoulder. They’re hunting arrows, the kind professional hunters use for deer or hogs. As a former fish and game officer, I recognize quality equipment, and I’m almost envious of those arrows for a second. To my surprise, though, it’s not a bow that she pulls from behind her as more zombies close in. It's a crossbow. A bright pink motherfucking crossbow.

  By now, the other two women look more steady on their feet and the wounded one has regained her balance enough to arm herself. They've both drawn their own long hunting daggers, and are standing with their backs to one another in a sort of defensive triangle-like formation. It looks like something they’ve done many times before because the girls navigate around one another with ease. The one with the bright red hair turns her head sideways and says something. I can't see their lips from behind their masks, but the sexy blonde tomb raider just nods her head curtly. Suddenly, though, she turns her head in our direction, raises her right hand and promptly flips us off.

  Chapter ☣ 2

  Hell

  “Fuck those guys! Let’s waste these things and get the heck out of here!” I tell my girls. There’s a car on the other side of the parking lot shining their floodlights on us and attracting every zombie within a mile radius. They’re just sitting there, watching us like it’s some kind of game. I flip them off, letting them know exactly what I think about them.